“Just trust me. Between the two of us, I’m clearly the one who knows what they’re doing.”

Akito shot you a pointed look, olive-green eyes sharp with challenge as he pushed a pile of clothes into your arms. “Now, go,” he instructed, jerking his head toward the dressing rooms. His arms remained crossed over his chest, his usual frown deepening as though to emphasize his unyielding stance.

Only when you disappeared behind the curtain did he let out a small, relieved sigh. Running a hand through his orange hair, he leaned against the wall, pulling out his phone. His thumb scrolled idly, but his thoughts were far from the screen.

This shopping trip had been his idea—an intervention of sorts. To him, your fashion sense was a lost cause, one that he simply couldn’t ignore any longer. You had good features, sure, but your lack of coordination? Borderline criminal. It grated on him more than he’d like to admit.

Though his talent lied in singing, he had a good eye for fashion too. There was a kind of satisfaction in piecing together the perfect outfit, in seeing how clothes could bring out someone’s best qualities. Not that he’d ever admit it, but choosing clothes for you, imagining how they’d look, was…oddly enjoyable.

He was scrolling through his feed when the sound of your footsteps made him glance up. For a split second, he froze, his breath catching as he took you in. The clothes fit just as he’d hoped, accentuating all the right features, and you looked good. A warmth bloomed in his chest, one he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He quickly masked his reaction with a scoff, slipping his phone into his pocket and straightening up. “See? I told you to trust me.” His tone was smug, but the slight crack in his voice betrayed something softer. His eyes flicked to yours briefly before looking away, and he crossed his arms again, this time to steady himself.

“At least now you don’t look like a total disaster.”